The Path of Desire
by PerfectParadox
Summary: Cyrus has returned and goes on, once again, to build the Ocularis. However, a new discovery distracts him and spawns new ways to obtain the power and greatness he desires.((chappy 3 up ))
1. Introduction

After the unfortunate incidents with that terrible house of glass, the Kriticos family left, for good, taking with them select items from Cryus' collections. Arthur had been right in assuming the enormous value on such objects, and, with the money they obtained from selling these items, Arthur and his family were able to live comfortably for quite some time. They told no one of the horrors in their inherited abode, and it sat there, still, secluded deep within the woods. It's metal frame like a sad skeleton devoid of life and the greatness it had been built to represent and attain. However, one might recall a certain suitcase, a certain black suitcase that had served as a trigger for the whole mechanism known as the Ocularis Infernum. In leaving this house of horrors, the Kirticos family also left behind this object and it's contents. It is of particular interest to us, because it was this unimaginable sum of money that allowed the following events in this story, which I shall recount, to you, to occur.  
  
One might recall as well, two deaths that occurred that night, one being the demise of the late Cyrus Kriticos, the other being the untimely death of one Dennis Rafkin. What happened after Dennis was brutally murdered, well, we shall see. But, before I begin, I want to tell you what happened to the great Cyrus himself. Cyrus' spirit remained at the site of his beloved house, his life's work, because he was unable to leave it, even after death. Not long afterwards, a small woman discovered the houses remains. Now, Dennis Rafkin was not the only one to ever possess certain "gifts." This woman, Maureen Anderson, also had psychic abilities. Needless to say, she came across that rather disgruntled spirit of Cyrus Kriticos, and, to make a long story short, the two somehow devised a way to bring him back. Yes, Cyrus lived once more. The details are completely lost to everyone except said psychic and man. Determined for greatness, Cyrus set upon, once again, the path he had worked towards his whole life.  
  
After acquiring the suitcase mention earlier, a certain ancient book, a certain reel of spells and as many pairs of spectral viewers as there was left, Cyrus was ready to rise once again nearly to his former glory. Rebuilding the house and Ocularis took a considerable amount of time and occupied much of his mind. However, not long afterwards, like and itch, small at first, but growing, Cyrus felt the need to "hunt" once again. After a small amount of research, he decided exactly where to begin anew in his hunt to recapture the twelve spirits he required.  
  
((Didn't think Thirteen Ghosts was a particularly great movie, but it spawned an interesting idea for a fic. Here is the intro. The rest of the story isn't written in this fashion, I just felt like starting it out that way. Anyways, Chapters 1,2,and 3 are all written, but need to be typed up. Stay tuned for more. )) 


	2. The Hunt BeginsAnd Ends

-I apologize for not typing anything up sooner, I've had a busy week. And I decided to rewrite the first half of the first chapter because I thought of a new twist to the plot. So.. yeah, hope y'all like this .  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own much of this, but I do own Erelah and Maureen. Not that I really care about Maureen all that much, you can have her...she's just necessary to the plot...for example...wait, I can't tell you that, that would spoil things. How 'bout I just stop talking so you can read...sound good?  
  
It is well past dusk on a dusty and ill-repaired road. A crumpled and untrustworthy looking guardrail is the only barrier between the shoulder of the road and the cliff that drops immediately behind the rusted metal. It's height is dizzying and it is the site of an oddly numerous amount of accidents for such a seldomly used road. Some say the place is haunted, and most who make it past the steep incline without incident claim the temperature is a few degrees cooler and the hairs of the back of your neck stand on end. However, conclusive evidence of such haunting is, as of yet, pretty much nonexistent.  
  
There are those, however, that think differently...those who know differently. One such person goes by the name of Cyrus Kriticos, but this is just what he goes by, because it is known, perhaps not widely, that Cyrus Kriticos is dead. However, this man does bear a keen resemblance to the deceased, perhaps a bit older looking, but the similarity is striking. Very few know the truth of the matter.  
  
Stepping form his Mercedes, Cyrus' shoes crunched quietly on the gravel that lies on the shoulder of the road. He peered over the guardrail and shivered imperceptibly, having no great affection for heights. A stiff wind blew, seemingly trying to steal his silk cravat from his neck. Cyrus, as always, was meticulously dressed. His charcoal suit was perfectly tailored to his form, and not a hair on his head was graying or out of place.  
  
A diminutive figure appeared from the car as well, taking her place beside him. She stood around 5' 2" and her frame was slight. The wind danced in her mousy brown hair that fell, slightly frizzy, just past her shoulders. She was meek and afraid looking, with a dull pain underlying it all, this being apparent as she massaged her temples. The meticulous man beside her ignored her presence and slipped on a pair of goggle-like glasses and smiled into the wind. Not bothering to look at the woman beside him, Cyrus spoke to her. "Maureen, if you would be so kind as to tell me where he is at this moment." His tone was curt, professional and to the point. It pained Maureen slightly that he would treat her so; even after all she had done for him.  
  
Gritting her teeth, Maureen attempted to focus. She reached out and made contact with the guardrail, her body stiffening momentarily before she was able to tear her hand away. With a barely steady arm, she pointed down the road past a truck and a group of men setting up a large glass cube, among other things. "He knows you're here, but he's waiting." She also felt something else as well; a small presence that she mentally brushed away as one would swat at a persistent fly.  
  
Cyrus smiled and chuckled. "Smart boy." Nodding, her gazed in the direction she had indicated. Relying on a silver-headed cane, Cyrus moved to the truck and climbed carefully up a ladder attached to the side of it. Standing atop the vehicle, his gazed turned down at those hurrying about in preparation. He heard the sound of an engine revving in the distance and spoke into a small microphone attached at the collar of his suit. "Everyone in ready positions, I repeat, everyone in ready positions." The ground below cleared as all scattered to their various posts. A moment later, a deep voice chanting spells broke out over several loud speakers.  
  
Erelah had taken cover in the brush opposite the guardrail and cliff the moment she had heard the truck approaching. It was from there that she watched silently, inquisitive gray eyes peering from the shadows. Everyone was busy and hurrying around, preoccupied with whatever they were doing, and so her presence went unheeded. What, exactly, they were up to, she did not know. What she did know was that only two kinds of people came here. The first were those that were ignorant of the angry spirit that dwelt here. The second kind was those who came in search of said spirit. The former was far more common, but Erelah guessed that these were of the latter sort. Where their fate lie, she did not know, but the bottom of the cliff was always a possibility. However, since she had taken to walking this road at night, she had never come across anyone that acted like this. Deciding she had no duty to warn them, Erelah sat back to watch.  
  
The spectral viewers that sat on Cyrus' face began to rub uncomfortably and he removed them to massage the sore spots left on the bridge of his nose. An incontent sight escaped his lips and he made a mental not to do something to make the viewers more comfortable. He was about to call out, trying to figure out what was taking so long, when his words were drowned out by the screech of tires. He looked up to see, but realized the viewers were still in his hand. About to raise them to his face, the whole truck rocked with a crunch as one side crumpled in without any visible cause for doing so. Cyrus lost his balanced and fell, being saved only by grasping a rung of the ladder. His spectral viewers and cane fell to the ground as he struggled to pull himself back up on top of the vehicle. A sickening crack rang out, followed by a loud scream.  
  
Adrenaline running through his veins, Cyrus turned, wide-eyed, to see the source of the exclamation of pain. One of his men lies on the ground, clawing at his chest and gasping for breath. In just another moment, the door the glass cell clanged shut. It was over.  
  
Cyrus cursed himself for having missed all the excitement. Slowly, he climbed down form the roof of the truck, retrieving his glasses and cane, stopping momentarily to examine the side of the truck. It was damaged, but still able to be driven. Cyrus' mood had turned particularly sour now and hi was ready to yell at the next person that approached him. On his way to view hi prey in the glass cell, he stepped over the man on the ground that now writhed agony.  
  
Cyrus stood in from the glass box, his face close to the pane of glass. He slipped his spectral viewers back on and smiled at his prize that stood just inside. Royce Clayton glared back; his young face half burned and bloodied form his very own fate at the bottom of the cliff. Bloodthirsty rage was clear in his eyes, but intelligence also reflected there, apparent by the fact he did not try to beat his way through the barrier that separated them. This wasn't his first time being tapped in this fashion, but, being a ghost, he was ultimately defenseless against Cyrus' spells.  
  
Cyrus saw the urge the spirit had to lung at him, the need to beat him to a bloody pulp, and he chuckled at Royce's fury. Picking up his cane, he tapped the silver knob in the glass, tap, tap, tap. The sound of the cane enraged the ghost further. Royce lunged, his bat swinging and making contact with the spell-engraved glass. Sparks flew about the man on the other side, but Cyrus did not so much as flinch. "Good to see you again, old friend." Chuckling once more, Cyrus removed the odd spectacles from his face and the apparition blinked away before his eyes.  
  
Less cautious now, and dumbfounded with disbelief, Erelah stepped from her cover. While she had not exactly been able to see all that went on, she thought she know what had happened, and had not thought it possible. Caution thrown to the wind, Erelah approached the cage with wide eyes. Her fingers traced the Latin inscribed on the glass and she stared past it into the seemingly empty space within.  
  
She did not even see the two men approach her, but they came very much to her attention when they seized her roughly by the arms. They dragged her, kicking and struggling, to a man of refined appearance. He looked her up and down, his gaze coming to rest on her face. She looked to be no older than 17 or 18 years old. Her loose, auburn hair had fallen into her face and down around her arms, nearly reaching her waist.  
  
His glasses still in hand, Cyrus approached her curiously, looking down on her five-foot form from his height. She appeared quite harmless and he did not think that this assumption was unsafe. "Well, my dear, what might you be doing here?" His tone indicated he was more amused than concerned, and he gently tapped the viewers on her cheek.  
  
Her stormy gray eyes held both defiance and fear, and her throat was too dry for words. She did not, however, have any need to answer Cyrus. The look of shock that registered on his face was puzzling, but told her that the reason she was here was no longer concerning him.  
  
Lifting his glasses, Cyrus had caught a glimpse of her eye through the lens. The eye he saw, however, did not match the one he saw without the aid of the instrument. His gaze jumped between the lens and her puzzled gray eye, his jaw dropped in disbelief. Suddenly pulling himself back to reality, he fumbled with the glasses until they sat crooked on his face. Cyrus' mouth moved as if to speak, but the only sound that came from his throat was a series of amazed and stupefied gasps. A grin crept its way across his mouth and Cyrus ran a hand through his hair, mussing up his ordinarily refined appearance.  
  
The only results of his strange actions were a few pairs of eye looking at him in a strange manner. The men holding the girl shifted uneasily unsure of what to do. Getting as much of a grip on himself as he could, Cyrus waved Maureen over with an unsteady hand. Removing the glasses from his head, he surrendered them to the psychic with a shaking hand. He stepped back to think, crossing his arms and watching Maureen. When she gave him a questioning look, he waved her on in encouragement. "Look, look..." was all he could manage to say. On of his hand strayed up to stroke his chin while he lightly chewed his lip; unaware of the fact he was acting completely out of character.  
  
Maureen merely blinked at first, pulling the glasses below her line of vision to study the girl. Pushing them back up on the bridge of her nose, she observed Erelah again, her eyes filled with amazement. She faced Cyrus and shrugged her shoulders, having no explanation for him. The man had now regained most of his composure and stood there, grinning like a fool at this unexpected find. "Put her in the car," he said, turning away. Erelah was dragged away without commotion, the defiant look in her eyes mixed with a slight confusion.  
  
Alright, there we are. Reviews are always appreciated, so thanks to those who have reviewed already. I saw that a bunch of fics here involve the torn prince aka Royce Clayton, so I debated about using him in the story, but he is the only ghost that fits the description I need (you'll find out more abou that later)... so, I apologize for adding to any overuse of his character. 


	3. House Guest

-Alright...onto the second chapter. (sorry for not typing it up sooner...I am lazy...)  
  
Maureen removed the glasses and approached Cyrus slowly. "You have no explanation for that?" His back was turned to her, but the smile on his face could clearly be heard in his voice.  
  
Maureen shrugged and fumbled with her words. "...No sir...well, I thought perhaps she was possessed by another ghost, but, if you saw what I saw, that...wasn't human. I've never seen any true accounts of demonic possession, being possessed by an angry spirit is, as far as I know, mistaken for a demon." Since she had worked with him, Maureen had never not been able to give Cyrus an adequate answer. Her inability to provide him with the information he sought worried her and this new girl, frankly, frightened her a little.  
  
Cyrus merely nodded, giving no indication of what he thought himself. "Very well then." Turning to face her, he adopted his usual business like tone. "Take care of this mess and put our little friend in his former containment cell downstairs. I should like to have a little...chat with our new guest." Without waiting for even an acknowledgement that she had heard him, Cyrus made his way towards his car and the person that waited within.  
  
Erelah leaned up against the car door as he slid in. There were too many people around so she had not attempted to escape. Her gray eyes bore into him, but he could not quite read the emotion they held. He hesitated slightly, but smiled warmly. "Well, well..."he regarded her for a moment before finishing. "It's a bit late for a stroll, don't you think?"  
  
Her jaw set, she gave a simple answer. "No."  
  
Cyrus nodded and chuckled. "Well then, I suppose you do this sort of thing all the time, especially along haunted highways." Without waiting for her reply, he continued. "Tell, what are you doing here? And don't lie, because I'll get the truth out of you one way or another."  
  
Disregarding his question, she glared at him. "What did you see back there...with the glasses on, when you looked at me?"  
  
His voice rose slightly now, a hint of anger finding it's way into his tone. "I asked you a question. Answer me first. What are you doing here?"  
  
Erelah remained perfectly calm, a defiant flicker illuminating her eyes. "I live around here. Now tell me what you saw?"  
  
Fury flashed momentarily across his face, but he kept it in check. This girl was already getting on his nerves. "You live her? Near that thing?" He motioned out the window, indicating the cell and it's contents. His laugh was short and disbelief apparent on his visage.  
  
Nodding slowly, Erelah persisted, trying to obtain the information she sought that she knew he could give. "Please tell me what you saw...I need to know." Her tone was almost begging in nature and calmed Cyrus' nerves. For some reason, the vision he found through the spectral viewers was important to her. An expert at manipulation, Cyrus knew he could use it.  
  
"Very well then." He said, half to himself, nodding almost imperceptibly as he thought. Erelah thought that for a moment she would receive the answer she was seeking, until he leaned forward and spoke quietly to the driver. She heard the click of the doors locking and the quiet rumble of the engine starting. A slight panic filled her eyes.  
  
"Hey..." she attempted to calm herself, but her tone remained frantic. "Hey, you can't do this. Let me out." She tried to find a way to unlock the door, but her shouts trailed off as she realized the futility of her escape attempts. Slumping back in her seat, hopelessness filled her as the car pulled away from the shoulder of the road and began its long drive. Cyrus' mouth quivered slightly at one corner in a half smile as he, too, leaned back in his seat.  
  
Erelah never saw the house until they were nearly on top of it, but the sight of the glass structure appearing from between the trees made her sit up and her jaw dropped slightly in amazement. Cyrus grinned at her response and his voice broke the spell that seemed to have settled over her. "We're here." With those words, the car rolled to a stop and he stepped from it, breathing in the fresh night air of the surrounding woods. He motioned for the driver to assist Erelah from the vehicle. Having no intention of running at this point, Erelah shook the mans hands from her person and got out herself, her head tilting back as she gazed the height of the building.  
  
Cyrus slipped the odd looking key into the lock and, after a series of clicks and whirs, the door slid open. He stepped back and motioned for her to enter the house, a warm smile spread across his lips. Erelah hesitated briefly before deciding there was no danger at the moment and stepped through the doorway.  
  
Cyrus stepped in right after her, and the rumble of the truck pulling into the driveway could be heard before the door was clicked shut. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said, spreading his arms to indicate the house. Erelah stared back blankly at him. Cyrus ignored her reaction and motioned for her to follow him, "This way please." After a series of turns, he led her into the library where he eased into a large, comfortable looking chair, motioning for her to do the same across form him. She did so and they stared at each other in an intense silent for a few moments until he spoke. "Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" He was immensely curious about her and looking forward to solving some of the puzzles currently surrounding her.  
  
Erelah stared back at him in disbelief and it was a moment before she could manage to speak. When she did, it was in an exasperated tone. "I'm walking along the road, minding my own business, when, out of nowhere, you, I don't even now your name, come out of the blue and kidnap me. And now you want me to tell you a little bit about myself...I don't think so."  
  
Cyrus frowned, but remained calm. "First of all, you were not minding your own business, you were minding my business." He sighed, looking at her for a moment before continuing. "You are right, however. I should have introduced myself sooner, but I was...beside myself." He spread his hand sin a surrendering manner and smiled slightly. "I am Cyrus Kriticos, owner and designer of this wondrous structure you are now seated in."  
  
Erelah stared at him blankly for a moment, cocking an eyebrow, before reluctantly offering her own name. "Erelah..." she mumbled, slumping back in her chair, trying to keep her eyes on Cyrus. However, she could not help sneaking glances at the surrounding room and it's interesting contents. A bookcase dominated one wall and held a number of books, most leather bound and quite old looking. There were also several expensive looking items, including a decorative katana inlaid with gold and jade.  
  
The man that sat at the other side of the table removed a cigar from a box and clipped the end off before lighting it. It was Cyrus who then broke the uncomfortable silence, as Erelah refused to speak. "Well...Erelah...I am quite curious about you. Tell me a bit about yourself..." He frowned, choosing a question to ask her. "How old are you?"  
  
"Nineteen." Her tone was flat and emotionless.  
  
Cyrus nodded once, happy to finally be getting some information out of her. He was slightly surprised at her age, having thought she would be younger. He asked more questions, his tone encouraging. "Where did you grow up? Tell me about your parents, tell me anything, my curiosity is insatiable."  
  
Fed up with him, Erelah rolled her eyes in a juvenile manner. "You know, all you have done since I met you is ask questions. I think I need some answers too. Like why the hell I'm here, and what exactly you saw back there." She was insistent now, her tone stating clearly that she would go no further if he did not comply.  
  
Cyrus' mouth opened to answer, but the door to the library opened and Maureen appeared carrying a tray with a teapot, cream sugar and three teacups balanced on top of it. She tried to act normal, but snuck quick, furtive glances at the girl and kept to the other side of the table. Her frightened manner was slightly more pronounced and she jumped slightly when Cyrus spoke. "Hello Maureen, how is our little friend?"  
  
She set the tray on the table and sat herself in a chair beside Cyrus, every move under Erelah's gaze. "He's in a containment cell downstairs, all is well. Everyone has been paid adequately."  
  
"Good...good." He proceeded to pour a cup of tea, introducing Erelah. "Maureen, this is Erelah, Erelah, Maureen." Erelah offered a half-hearted smile, but said nothing. Maureen merely peered over at the girl. "Would you like some tea?" Cyrus asked the girl. She nodded and he filled all three cups. "Sugar or cream?" Erelah shook her head to both and took the cup he then offered. There was a moment of silence as he prepared his own cup, leaving Maureen to fend for herself.  
  
"I was just having a chat with Erelah here. Did you happen to think of anything on your way over?"  
  
Maureen shook her head, but spoke. "I do remember, now, sensing her presence before, when we were still setting up."  
  
Cyrus nodded, lifting his cup to his lips to take a sip of the steaming brown liquid. "Maureen is our resident psychic." He explained to Erelah, who's brow furrowed slightly now and glanced at Maureen once more.  
  
"You still haven't answered my questions." She said bluntly, glaring at Cyrus with her arms crossed over her chest.  
  
He sighed, the girl beginning to grate on his nerves. "As for what I, what we saw, I think you already know something about that. As for why you're here, that has to do with what I saw. So, disregarding pleasantries, as you seem inclined to do, it is you who should be telling me what I saw." Cyrus sat back, a satisfied grin on his face as he awaited Erelah's response. Maureen meekly sipped at her tea in silence, sneaking frightened glances at Erelah.  
  
Erelah glared back, frowning, and her tea sitting untouched on the tabletop. "I'm too tired to put up with this anymore, I just want to go home and go to bed, it's late."  
  
"Well, if you are tired, I'd be more than happy to accommodate you. As for going home, I'm afraid I cannot let you do that." Having grown tired of trying to pry information out of her, he decided to be finished with her until tomorrow morning. "Maureen, show her to a room." He leaned back, closing his eyes, signaling the end of the conversation.  
  
Maureen and Erelah rose at the same time. The mousy woman opened the door and, as Erelah stepped through, she was about to lay her hand on the girl's back, perhaps as a friendly gesture, although there were ulterior motives. Her hand was stopped, however, by a quiet but sharp remark. "Don't touch me. Trust me, you wouldn't want to." With that, both stepped through the door and it clicked close behind them, leaving Cyrus alone.  
  
The man in the chair grinned to himself, eyes still closed. The girl's last comment, however quiet, did not escape him. It told him that she at least had knowledge of what being psychic entitled, but he was sure it had some other significance as well. What, exactly, he did now know...yet.  
  
-yeah...so we still don't know exactly what's up with that girl......you'll find out next chapter, I promise...along with another surprise. Thank you for all the reviews, luv you all -blows kisses- 


	4. Familiar Apparition

Maureen led Erelah to a room upstairs. Erelah followed, trying to take everything in, peering into other rooms, fingers reaching out to trace the writing on the walls, which she recognized as Latin, although she could not read it. There were no words between them, even when Maureen opened the door to a room and gestured for her to enter. Erelah walked through the doorway without even saying so much as thank-you. Her mind was so occupied by her own thoughts that she didn't even notice when Maureen left the door slightly ajar.  
  
Erelah felt slightly exposed in a room with glass walls and rubbed her arms from a sudden chill. The bed was big and comfortable looking, covered in rich colored burgundy sheets, and she was exhausted, but wanted to take the time exploring the small room. To the right of the bed was a simple wooden chair, so different from the one she had occupied in the library. Along the wall to her right stood a small bookcase lined with a few books and several knickknacks. She read the titles, finding most of them to be poets, including Christina Rossetti, Amy Lowell, Robert Frost, William Butler Yeats and several other names she recognized. Just to the left of the headboard was a small side-table dominated by a lamp. Along the left wall was a dresser, which Erelah examined thoroughly, but found all the drawers to be empty. Also along the left wall was a door that led to a bathroom that was just as uninteresting. However, she was happy to see that the walls were made of a clouded, translucent glass rather than the crystal clear walls like the rest of the house. In truth, her room disappointed her after the magnificent library, although her own room at home was nowhere near as nice as this.  
  
Fatigue fought with her wakefulness and Erelah decided she really had nothing better to do than give in. She'd figure the rest out in the morning. Slipping off her pants and throwing them over the chair, Erelah slipped beneath the covers and drifted towards much needed sleep and the escape of dreams.  
  
-  
  
An apparition stands at the foot of the bed, paler than the figure that sleeps within. A slightly puzzled and thoughtful look encompasses his face and he removes a pair of glasses in order to clean them with his shirt, as he is prone to do while thinking. The ghosts name is Dennis Rafkin, who's own death cam shortly before the demise of Cyrus himself. He stares in wonder at the girl that sleeps.  
  
After his death, Dennis left the glass house that once belonged to a man he called a friend. He wandered restlessly, checking frequently in on the Kriticos family who seemed to be doing quite well having put the unpleasant events that occurred one night behind them. Through his wanderings, Dennis found himself back at the scene of his death. The house, however, was much different from the skeletal building he had left in tatters, but not unfamiliar as he had seen the amazing structure before it's destruction.  
  
Having arrived with Maureen and the Torn Prince, he had not seen the girl yet, nor had he seen Cyrus. The sight of the house intact was unnerving enough, but the sight of Royce Clayton's ghost had deeply disturbed him. Out of curiosity, he had entered the house, Royce being the only one to mark his passage through the door. After seeing the angry spirit moved to his former cell, Dennis had made his way upstairs, becoming increasingly concerned. He found his feet carrying him to the library, only to suffer the shock of finding an alive and well Cyrus within. In danger of revealing his presence with a nearly uncontrollable exclamation, he took to pacing the halls and peering into the empty rooms.  
  
It seemed to him that Cyrus had somehow come back and was picking up the pieces of the dream that had been shattered not so long ago. It was pacing, lost in thought, that brought him to an occupied room. The mere fact that someone else was still in the house startled him, but it was upon closer inspection that he found even more reason to be amazed.  
  
As one of the living, Dennis had been blessed with certain powers. Now, as one of the dead, those powers affected him still. When he first saw Erelah, he saw exactly what any normal person would have seen. A girl lying asleep in bed, her auburn hair spread out in a fan behind her head and that serene expression only sleep could bring. Upon walking to the foot of the bed, he placed his hand, or meant to, upon the end board of the bed. With this action, Dennis was suddenly bombarded with a vision. He jerked his hand back, not because of pain, but because of the intensity of what he saw. Concentrating, he found he could summon the image at will. The vision he saw had the same setting as was before him, and he knew it was the girl that lay sleeping in his vision, except not exactly the same. What he saw frankly stunned him, even though his life had been full of paranormal experiences and his death spent seeing many things he had never had the chance to see in his short lifetime. This was the same thing, although he did not know it yet, that both Cyrus and Maureen had seen through the spectral viewers.  
  
In place of auburn locks, silver blond tresses spilled over the dark colored sheets. The curves of her face were smooth and flawless, as was her skin that was silver-blue in the pale moonlight. Spread out behind her were what stunned Dennis the most. A pair of ivory colored wings were tucked behind her back, the longest flight feathers nearly reaching her heals. In short, it seemed to be an angel that had taken Erelah's place, if angels wore jeans and tank tops and slept in the houses designed by the devil and owned by scary old men plotting to take over the world. The was no halo, however, but her skin seemed to emit a soft light, a pale aura that accentuated each feature, but that might have just been the light of the moon.  
  
With hardly any trouble, Dennis found he could switch between the vision and the reality of the girl. It didn't take long for him to make the odd decision that they were the same. However, exactly what it was before him remained a mystery. Removing his glasses and absent-mindedly wiping them with the edge of his shirt, Dennis was lost in thought. He recalled once hearing of people who claimed to have souls that were other than human, but he had never believed their claims and so never looked further into it. A glimmer of doubt appeared within his previous beliefs. 'Perhaps, just perhaps...' the thought trailed off as he approached the side of her bed, to better examine the features of her face.  
  
Suddenly, he jumped back, startled as her eyes shot open. The vision faded as his concentration broke. The figure in the bed sat up slowly and gazed sleepily about the room.  
  
-  
  
A presence invaded Erelah's drams. Impatiently she pushed it away, unwilling to be stirred from the comfort of sleep. But the presence persisted and grew closer. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Comfort lost even in her dreams Erelah awoke with a start, her heart pounding in her chest from the effort of breaking form her dream. She wasn't able to see anything, but she was familiar enough with the spiritual realm to know what someone, or something, was there. But as soon as she sought to locate its source, the presence was gone.  
  
Although there wasn't much light, there was enough for her to see that the door was left open a crack. Slightly puzzled, but too tired to care, Erelah hesitantly lay back down. She could not long fight off the threat of fatigue and soon drifted back to a peaceful sleep.  
  
-  
  
Dennis took a few stumbling steps backwards in shock. He wasn't expecting this girl to be so sensitive to his presence and decided it best if he left. Quickly he retreated from the room, not looking back. He might have thought she was a psychic, but her reaction was not severe enough and seemed in no way to be painful. His mind, however, drifted away from that question and was brought back to the eyes he had seen before the vision had faded. They had been strange, stranger than any eyes he had known. The color was a blue green that seemed to swirl with it's own life, and there had been no pupils. Just two unmarred circles of vivid swirling color framed by her lashes, and they were burned into his memory.  
  
-hey, Dennis is here (sorry, couldn't leave him out of the story). So, you might think an angel is a little hokey or something, but it had to be that way, but don't fret over it, there is still much much more to learn. I know this chapter is a little shorter than the others, but the next one was so long that I split it into two. Anyways, thanks for reading this much and hope you stick around . 


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